The Contract
by ai-08
Summary: Thinking back on it, rear-ending a member of the Russian mafia's car was probably not the best idea Alfred has ever had. AU, Ivan/Alfred, Underage!Al
1. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

Alfred opened the front door to his house as quietly as possible and stuck his head in to see if the coast was clear. So long as he made the four or five steps from the door to the stairs, he'd be home free and no one would ever know that he was two hours past curfew. He glanced from left to right. The living room light was on, but no one was in there. He heard soft voices from the kitchen, but if he was quiet enough and quick enough he was certain that no one would catch him.

Alfred took a deep breath and opened the door just wide enough to fit through. He took one step, then another; he was half way there! Two more steps and he'd be- "Just where the bloody hell have you been for the past God knows how long?"

Shit.

Alfred put on his best "I don't know what you're talking about" face and smiled at his father.

"Hey Dad, sorry I'm late. It won't happen aga-"

"I'm too old to fall for your cock and bull stories, lad," Arthur cut him off. Stalking across the floor to get a better look at him, Arthur gave his son a once over. "You've been drinking," he said, the displeasure evident in his voice. It wasn't a question and Arthur left him with no room to argue, silencing any excuses that might have followed with a single glare.

"I've still got my associates over," Arthur said. "Get up stairs and go to bed; we'll discuss this in the morning."

Alfred rolled his eyes. "It's not like it's a school nigh-"

"I said we'll discuss this in the morning," Arthur said, putting an end to the conversation.

Alfred turned around and began to climb the stairs. "And don't you dare slam your door, Alfred," Arthur called up after him.

Alfred flipped him the bird and slammed his door, just to spite him.

Sighing, he sat down on his bed, kicking his shoes off and throwing off his coat, not caring where they landed.

"Why should I listen to you?" he managed to mumble before falling asleep. "It's not like you're my real Dad anyways..."

* * *

The next morning at eight o'clock sharp (thanks to his alarm clock) Alfred woke up with a slight headache and an extremely dry mouth. He had fallen asleep with his glasses on (again) but thankfully they had been shoved, unharmed, to the side. He put them on and, noticing he had fallen asleep in yesterday's clothes, found a new t-shirt and a fresh pair of boxers.

By 8:05 he was making his way down the stairs and nearly tripped over his little sister's stuffed fish doll. He picked it up by a frayed fin and brought it with him to the kitchen where, judging by the smell of tea and crepes, his two least favorite people were.

"Marine," he said, shoving the toy into the the little girl's arms. "You gotta stop leaving your shit on the stairs. You almost killed me, kiddo."

Marine giggled and apologized, hugging the plush toy to her chest.

"Watch your language around your sister," Arthur said from behind the paper, not bothering to look away from the article he was reading to properly greet his son.

Alfred rolled his eyes. "Good morning to you too, old man."

At that remark Arthur snapped the paper shut and gave Alfred a warning glare. "You're already in hot water, boy. Breaking curfew and coming home..." he spared a glance to the youngest member of the family and stopped himself before saying 'drunk'. He cleared his throat and continued. "Would you really like to add disrespect to your ever growing list of offenses?"

Alfred was about to reply in kind, but Francis cut him off. "Must you two start everyday this way?" he said with a sigh, setting a platter in the middle of the table.

"Well maybe if he'd stop being such a prick-"

"If Alfred would simply learn some respect-"

"Would the two of you f_ermes les bouches_ and eat?" he said between clenched teeth. Every morning was the same with these two. Of course he and Arthur had their spats, but at least they waited until breakfast was over. Usually.

"They're peach and blackberry," he said, indicating to the crepes. "Now eat."

Arthur regarded the food with distain. "I don't see why I must be forced to eat this rubbish every weekend, frog."

"Ah, _rosbif_, I thought we agreed not to fight in front of _les enfants_?"

Marine tugged at the sleeve of Francis's silk dress shirt. "What is it, _ma coeu_r?" he asked sweetly.

"We can't eat yet, Papa. Mattie isn't here."

Francis and Arthur both seemed shocked by this news and looked around, both doing a mental head count.

"Be a dear and go fetch your brother, darling," Arthur said.

Marine bounced out of the kitchen, shouting for Matthew to wake up at the top of her little lungs.

Alfred rolled his eyes at the entire exchange. If he had been late for breakfast, he never would have heard the end of it. Not that he was jealous of his brother, but it always seemed as if Matthew could get away with anything. If Matthew had broken curfew last night (not that he ever would) Arthur would not have cared, or even noticed. It was hardly fair.

"So what's my punishment?" Alfred asked with mock interest. He grabbed two crepes and took a large bite, waiting for Arthur to speak.

Arthur took a sip of his tea, regarding his eldest child with a look of equal parts irritation and disappointment. "Alfred," he began, "you lack humility and respect-"

"I learned from the best," Alfred chimed in, cocky grin firmly in place.

"You're not helping yourself, _cher_," Francis said, though he couldn't quiet help smirking in amusement. Those two were exactly the same; it was a pity that fact caused them to fight more than they got along.

Arthur's face was beginning to grow red with anger. "I will not stand for your insolence any longer, Alfred," Arthur warned. "Until you decide to grow up and stop acting like a child I'm going to-"

"What, _ground_ me?" Alfred snorted. He was so used to this speech he could practically recite it verbatim. 'Alfred, you're a disappointment, Alfred you're so immature, Alfred, why can't you be more like your brother? Alfred, you never listen. Until you learn your lesson you're grounded young man.'

Arthur smiled. "No, I'm not going to ground you, seeing as that never seems to work with you."

Alfred raised a brow at that comment, trying to look as if he was humoring the older man, but his stomach clenched a little. This was new; what was Arthur planning? From the look on his face, it wasn't anything good...

"Until you've learned some respect, I'm confiscating all of your video games and consoles."

Alfred rolled his eyes. Sure that would suck, but it wasn't as if he couldn't just go over to Kiku's and-

"And I'll be calling Mrs. Honda and letting her know that you are not permitted to play video games for the time being."

Alfred shot up from his chair. "That is completely unfair!" he shouted. "You never do this to Matt!"

As if on cue, Matthew and Marine appeared in the door way. Francis noticed them and shook his head. Matthew bit his lip, looking between Arthur and Alfred. He sighed and ushered Marine away from the kitchen.

"Sit down, Alfred," Arthur said.

Alfred didn't move.

"Sit _down_," Arthur said again.

"_Cher_, listen to your father," Francis said soothingly.

A few more moments passed and finally Alfred listened. He sat down and pointedly turned his face away from the two of them, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

"I realize that your behavioral problems are largely my fault," Arthur said. "So from now on I will be taking a more active role in your life."

Alfred snorted. "Right, like you have the time for that."

Arthur continued to speak as if he had not heard him. "Everyday after football practice you will come to my office where you will do your homework and help around the office. This is not part of the punishment, Alfred," Arthur added, speaking more gently. "This is to help you foster a sense of responsibility. Of course you will also be pai-"

Alfred stood up again, no longer listening. His chair tottered for a moment before falling back as he stormed from the kitchen and up the stairs. He threw on some clothes, a heavy coat, and grabbed his keys. As headed for the front door he ran into Matthew.

"I'm going out for a bit," he muttered. "Don't call me."

* * *

A half an hour or so later Alfred found himself pulling off the highway and into the city. He grabbed his cellphone to check the time (the time in his truck was never right) and he saw that he had five missed calls and two voicemails, all of them from the house. He put his phone on speaker and played the messages.

"_Alfred I understand that you are angry with me_," Arthur said, voice tired and aggravated. There was a long pause. "_Look I understand that things have not always been great between us. But believe me I am... I do try. Perhaps I have been too harsh_." Another pause. "_Alfred, come home. We need to talk._"

"I don't have a damn thing to say to you," Alfred said aloud.

The next message played.

"_Alfred if you don't come home this instant I will do more than take away your video games, do you understand? I am sick of your constant disobedience and foolhardiness. Get your arse home. Now_."

"Bite me," Alfred said to his phone and deleted the messages.

He glanced down at the time. It was nearly ten AM. Surely someone would be awake by now? Barely paying attention to where he was driving, he began looking through his contacts-

And promptly rear-ended someone.

He hadn't been going more than twenty-five miles per hour (thank god) but it had been enough to cause his airbag to deploy.

"Mother _fucker_," he cursed, pushing at the airbag. Finally it went down, and he looked out the window to asses the damage. His truck looked ok, but he couldn't say the same for the tiny convertible in front of him.

Suddenly there was a distinct _tap, tap_ at his frosted window. He turned to find a frighteningly tall man in a business suit smiling down at him.

He gulped and stared, realizing that it must be the man whose car he had hit. He glanced back to the car and gulped again.

Make that the man whose _expensive_ car he had hit.

The man motioned for him to roll his window down. Reluctantly, he did.

"Perhaps if you had not been too busy texting you would have noticed the red light, _da_?" the man threatened in the guise of a question, his voice thick with a Russian accent.

Alfred put on his most winning smile. "Man, I am so sorry about that! You're right, it is totally my fault. I'll pay for the damages." Inwardly, he was cringing. He'd never hear the end of it from his old man...

The stranger's face remained frigidly cheerful. Alfred's stomach dropped to the floor.

The Russian laughed. "It is a pity that I know for a fact that you could not afford to have my bumper replaced, as the contraption you are driving seems to be more rust than anything else."

Alfred took great offense to that. He had worked long and hard on his truck, painstakingly finding all the right parts and lovingly putting it together himself. He had built his truck from the bottom up, and no one, not even the man he had run into, was going to trash-talk his baby.

"Maybe if you didn't waste your money on foreign crap and got a good ol' American car this wouldn't be an _issue_," he seethed.

He laughed again. "_Da_, but American cars are so ugly, and it would not have stopped you from _rear-ending_ me would it, you stupid boy?"

By now the light had turned green. People were honking their horns and starting to drive around them. Alfred's face was flushed with anger and embarrassment; he could feel everyone staring at them, and if the stupid foreign guy hadn't already called the cops, he was sure that someone else would if they didn't get off the road.

"We're blocking traffic," Alfred said, trying to keep his cool.

The man gave a surprised look around, as if noticing that fact for the first time. "So we are," he laughed.

Alfred got the distinct urge to punch him in the face. Maybe then he'd change his expression.

"So are you going to call the cops or what?" he asked.

The man tapped a finger against his chin, thinking it over. "_Nyet_, I think that will be unnecessary," he said. "But I would very much like to have a look at your driver's license."

Alfred rolled his eyes but dug in his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He slipped it out and handed it to him.

The man glanced at it then pocketed it.

"Hey you can't just-"

The Russian paid him no mind and had already walked back to his car and started the engine again. Alfred had no choice but to follow him.

* * *

Alfred felt like he had just been on a wild goose chase. The stupid man's car obviously hadn't been _too_ banged up (ok so the bumper was definitely bent and crooked, but it wasn't as if it was causing sparks to fly on the road or anything) but it was in good enough condition to get back on the highway.

Three exits, two red lights and one left turn later, and Alfred found himself in the parking lot of a nearly empty diner.

Alfred wasn't the most observant boy, but he knew there was something a little off about the situation. What sort of man took the guy who had just run into him to the parking lot of a restaurant?

"A serial killer," he said out loud. "Oh my god I rear-ended a serial killer."

He instantly locked his doors. There was noway the Russian serial killer was going to get him. Unless he beat his door in with a baseball bat or something. He instantly paled and took his car out of park, intent on leaving. It had been stupid to follow him; he didn't need his license that badly. He could just go to the DMV later and get a new one and not get killed and everything would be OK.

He began to drive but the Russian was blocking his path. Alfred gave a (very manly) screech and slammed on the brakes.

The Russian smiled and beckoned for him to roll his window down. Alfred wasn't sure why, but he did.

"You weren't planning on leaving, were you?" he asked.

Alfred glared but didn't say anything.

The Russian stepped up to the driver's side and procured some papers from his briefcase. He held them up to Alfred who took them reluctantly.

"What's this?" he asked. He flipped through the pages but there were just so many words he couldn't bring himself to read it. The last page, however, had a signature and a name typed directly beneath it. The name was Ivan Braginski.

"Are you Ivan Bra-whatever?" Alfred asked, ever tactful.

The Russian's smile seemed to grow more sinister. "Braginski," he corrected with false cheerfulness.

"Whatever," Alfred said. "What are these papers?" he asked.

"Oh, if you'd just sign the last page I'll clear you of any and all financial responsibility for the wreck."

Alfred frowned. "Why do I have to sign papers for that?"

Ivan giggled. "It's just paperwork. Boring legal stuff; it is nothing for you to worry about."

Alfred thought about it for a moment. Sure it wasn't the best idea to sign papers some stranger gave you, but if it got him off the hook and he didn't have to pay for any damages and never hear the end of it from Arthur...

"Gimme a pen," he said, making up his mind in under two seconds.

Ivan was more than happy to oblige.

Alfred quickly signed his name and handed him back the papers. Ivan promptly put them away.

"So can I go now?" Alfred asked, all smiles and happy to have gotten out of the predicament scott-free.

Ivan's smile grew larger. "I am thinking not," he said, placing a hand on the door to Alfred's truck, as if to keep him in place.

Alfred felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. "W-what do you mean?"

"I said that you will be free of all _financial_ responsibility," Ivan explained as if he were talking to a small child. "You will still need to be paying me back, _da_?"

Alfred was almost too afraid to ask, but he did anyways. "...How?" And did he even want to know?

Ivan did not say anything at first. Alfred chanced a glance at his face and noticed that the Russian's smile did not reach his eyes.

Finally, Ivan said, "I am so glad you asked."

* * *

**A/N:** Marine is Seychelles. Her name means "of the sea" in French. And as far as Alfred and Arthur's personalities are concerned... think Arthur back in his colony collecting days, and, well, Alfred is just being a whiney teenager. He wasn't beat enough as a child, I swear. But don't worry. He won't always act like a big baby. Maybe. Also, fail title is fail, but honestly, it gets the point across... **  
**


	2. Chapter Two

** Chapter Two**

"So basically what you're saying," Alfred said around a mouth full of burger, "is that if I clean up your apartment before your sisters get here, then you'll forgive the accident?"

Ivan nodded happily. "See?" he asked. "It is not as bad as you thought, _da_?"

Alfred blushed. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Ivan laughed a bit. "You screamed when I opened your car door," he said pleasantly as he unscrewed a tiny bottle he'd taken from his pocket and poured half of the clear liquid into his steaming coffee.

Alfred narrowed his eyes. "I did not."

"_Da_," Ivan took a sip, "I think you did."

"Did not."

Ivan's jaw tightened ever so slightly but Alfred did not notice.

Alfred took the bun off of his burger and grinned when he found two pickle slices. He peeled them off and wrapped them around a french fry and popped it into his mouth.

Ivan averted his gaze as Alfred finished his meal; Alfred's table manners were as horrid as his driving skills.

"Anyways," Alfred began, then paused to run his tongue over his teeth to check for lettuce. He took a big gulp of Coke and continued. "I really appreciate the meal but if that's all then I'm just gonna dip out if you don't mi-"

Ivan placed his coffee cup down so quickly and so forcefully that the saucer beneath it rattled and a bit of the coffee spilled over the edge, dripping down his hand. It was still scalding hot but Ivan gave no indication that he'd felt anything.

Alfred made a face and looked down at Ivan's hand, noticing for the first time that he had tattoos on his fingers. He blinked, surprised, then looked back up. "Anger issues much, dude?"

Ivan was still smiling that same frigid smile. Alfred wondered if his face ever got stuck like that.

"We have not yet discussed a schedule," the older man reminded, his tone as if he was speaking to a small child. "Of course I do not wish to interfere with your schooling or your extra-curicular activities so you will have to let me know when you are available."

Alfred rolled his eyes and gave a long-suffering sigh before shrugging and polished off his Coke. "Anytime after six, I guess," he said.

Ivan nodded. "That would be most convenient for me as well."

Alfred looked at his phone; it was nearly one. "Look man, I should really get going," he said, inching towards the edge of his booth.

Ivan nodded again. "I understand. If you will just give me your contact information and your address-"

"Whoa, whoa. Dude." Alfred waved his hands, cutting Ivan off. "I don't want you like, stalking me or something. Just text me."

And with that Alfred gave Ivan his cellphone number and waltzed towards the door, before remembering something and turning back around. "My drivers license?" he enquired, holding his hand out expectantly.

Ivan gave a little laugh. "You will be getting that back when you fulfill your end of the deal, _Eto panyAtno_?"

Alfred made a face and sighed. "Whatever, see ya."

"I am glad to see that we are in accordance," Ivan said lightly. "You are dismissed."

"Gee, thanks," Alfred said, giving a mock salute.

"And Alfred?" Ivan called. "Do not try to get out of our nice arrangement, _da_?"

Alfred smiled. "Bite me," he said sweetly before flipping him off and leaving.

Once he had left, Ivan compared the number Alfred had just given him to the number he already had stored in his contact list. He raised a brow and chuckled, infinitely amused by Alfred's attempt to out-smart him by giving him the wrong number.

Did the boy take him for a fool?

Ivan's cellphone began to ring. He answered it, not needing to look to see who it was. "_Alló brat_," he said. "You will not believe whose son I have finally become aquatinted with..."

* * *

"Man what an _idiot_!" Alfred laughed as he drove off. Did that stupid Russian really expect him to play maid? He had given him the wrong number; there was no way Ivan could get in touch with him, or worse, tell his dad what had happened. Alfred had just gotten off scott free!

And as for his driver's license, he could always go to the DMV and-

His driver's license.

His stupid driver's license had his address on it.

And he'd given him a fake number too so if he was really serious about keeping up with their little deal, the only way he'd be able to get ahold of him would be to.. go to his house...

"Fuuuuuck," he groaned, hitting his head on the steering wheel. Alfred just know that he was going to be grounded for the rest of his life.

* * *

"Did you just now get home?" Arthur asked from his seat in the living room as Alfred tried his best to shut the front door quietly. Alfred sighed, stopped walking, and glanced over at his father. It was well past midnight; his father was sure to yell, especially after how he left that morning.

Surprisingly, he didn't. Arthur sat nursing a glass of brandy, the first two buttons of his shirt undone and his sleeves rolled up. It was obvious that he had had a very trying day; he looked completely exhausted, both mentally and physically.

"Yeah," Alfred said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Then to change the subject, "Where's Francis?"

Arthur snorted and took a swig of his alcohol. "Hopefully rotting in a hole somewhere," he muttered. "If his children didn't live under my roof I'd change the locks on the doors."

Alfred chewed at his lower lip, unsure of what to say. He had expected to come home and be yelled at. He hadn't expected to come home to this. Arthur and Francis fought on a nearly daily basis but their fights rarely escalated to this level.

Alfred wanted to ask what was wrong, hoping his dad was just exaggerating, but he wasn't sure how to talk to Arthur like that. They didn't talk about personal problems. They didn't talk period.

So all he said was, "Oh," and went upstairs and all Alfred could think was that his dad was sure to have another reason to drink if Ivan Braginski came knocking.

Alfred sighed again and, without knocking, let himself into Matthew's room and flopped down on his bed.

Matthew, sitting at his desk on the computer, glanced over at his unannounced guest.

"Hey," he said quietly.

Alfred didn't bother to pick his face up off the mattress. "Sup," he mumbled in reply.

"They had a fight," Matthew said.

Alfred didn't reply.

"They were... really worried about you, too."

Still no response.

Matthew turned back to his computer and didn't say anything for a while.

After a few minutes Alfred sat up and picked up a book. He rolled his eyes._ Ice Hockey: A History_. It figured. He began to flip through the pages, half-heartedly reading the captions of the photographs he came across.

"Arthur thinks that Papa is cheating on him," Matthew said, not looking away from the computer screen.

Alfred looked up from the book. After a moment he said, "Do you think he is?"

Matthew shrugged but didn't respond.

* * *

Ivan sat in his apartment, absentmindedly flipped through the channels on the television when there was a knock at his door. He glanced over, having a feeling he knew who it was, and went back to watching TV. Ivan did not feel like dealing with anyone at the moment, least of all a young upstart trying to move his way up in the ranks through lies and deceit.

There was another knock at the door. Evidently he didn't know how to take a hint.

Ivan sighed and turned the television off. He walked to the front door and peered through the peek hole. Sure enough Andrei Bushmanov, a boy no older than twenty three, stood outside his door. A few months ago _Zima_ had deemed him worth of receiving his stars, something that had surprised everyone. The Council had ok'ed it though and Ivan had respected their decision. But ever since then Andrei had slowly been attempting to convince everyone that Ivan was a traitor. There was no founding for this of course; Andrei was simply foolish, impatient, and threatened by the power that Ivan held.

Andrei had visited him a few times under the pretenses of the two of them becoming better aquatinted, but Ivan knew that he was just working up the courage to try something.

He opened the door and smiled. "Please, come in," he said. "I was not expecting you my friend, how are you?"

Ivan wondered if today would be the day.

Andrei clapped him on the back a few times in a show of comradeship before taking a seat. "I am well. It is good to see you again, _Truba_. How have you been?"

Ivan procured a bottle of vodka and two shot glasses from the side table and brought them over to his guest. "I have been well, Andrei. Very well." He smiled again and poured two shots. They both drank.

"What brings you to my home?" Ivan asked, genuinely curious to see what he would say. He did not sit down.

Andrei set his shot glass down on the coffee table before him. "Have you thought anymore on what we last spoke about?" he enquired.

Ivan moved to pour another shot for the both of them but stopped when Andrei asked that question.

He smirked. So this was how Andrei wanted to play the game. The last time he had come for a visit he had attempted to show his "loyalty" to Ivan by confiding in him that some of the others were beginning to question Ivan's faithfulness to the _bratva_ when it was he himself who had tried to spread that lie.

Ivan decided to follow along with Andrei's plan, curious to see where he took things.

"No, There is no need to. Those rumors are unfounded," he said. "Though I appreciate your concern, I'm sure things will blow over." He refilled Andrei's shot glass and offered it to him. Andrei did not accept.

"I don't think they will, _Ivan_," he said, voice clipped.

And there it was. Andrei's impatience was beginning to show. Ivan was sure that it would be his downfall.

Ivan lowered his hand and raised a brow. "Do you think that I am disloyal, Andrei?" he questioned lightly. "Do you think that I would betray my own father?" His words were calm and clear; he knew that it was only a matter of time before Andrei grew agitated.

Andrei scoffed, as if the answer was obvious. "Of course not. But look around you. You do not exactly live like a _Vor_. It is no wonder that people ask questions."

Ivan laughed. "Everyone knows why I keep this apart-"

Andrei stood, face red. "They say your sister will be visiting soon," he said, cutting him off.

Ivan smiled. It hadn't taken Andrei very long to lose his cool. It was a pity, really. Andrei had such promise. Too bad he had let his anger and selfishness get the best of him. He wasn't even doing a very good job of hiding his deceit anymore.

Ivan nodded. "_Da_, Natasha will be here next week. For business."

"Yekaterina as well," Andrei added hotly. "And what business would a little farm girl have here, hmm?" His question was accusatory and Ivan did not miss the undertone of a threat.

Ivan's smile grew wider. Andrei really shouldn't have brought his family into this.

"Yes, Katyusha as well," he said, casually stepping closer. "And do you know what else?" he asked.

Andrei, not one to back down, tilted his head up to meet Ivan's gaze. "Wha-"

Ivan slit his throat before he had the chance to finish speaking. Andrei fell to the floor, blood steadily pooling around his head like a crimson halo.

"I dislike killing children," Ivan said pleasantly as he pocketed his knife. "Really Andriusha, you should have kept your mouth shut."

* * *

The next two days went by painfully slowly for Alfred. Francis had yet to return, Arthur decided to spend his days off at the bank, and Alfred stayed in his room, growing more and more nervous by the minute, wondering when, or even if, Ivan Braginski would contact him.

Every time his cellphone went off with a text message Alfred thought he was going to have a heart attack. But by the fifth time of hearing a little chime and then screaming like a lunatic Alfred figured that it was probably time to pull himself together. It was stupid to freak out anyways; Ivan didn't even have his phone number!

And really, what was the worst that could happen?

Ivan had told him that he wouldn't have to pay for the car. And even if he had it wasn't as if Ivan could prove that he had been the one to hit him since a police report had never been filed. All he could hold over him was the fact that he had his license, and really, what did that prove?

Nothing.

And anyways what sort of person drove up to someone's house demanding a cleaning service?

Yeah. As far as Alfred was concerned, Ivan could kiss his a-

Alfred's phone began to ring and he couldn't help it, he screamed again. Reminding himself that he had nothing to worry about because Ivan didn't have his number, and even if he did he could totally still take him, he answered the call.

"Hello?"

"_Alló_, Alfred," Ivan said. "I hope you are not busy next week?" There was a pause but Alfred was too shocked to say anything. How had Ivan gotten his real number?

"I will be needing your services Tuesday evening," Ivan continued.

Alfred finally snapped out of it. "How did you-"

"_Do svidanija_, Alfred. I will see you soon."

* * *

"Well Miss," Arthur glanced down at the file before him, "Kovalchuk, you're much... _earlier_ than we expected you, but it's a pleasure to have you with us none-the-less," he said, reaching across to desk to shake the hand of a petite woman with jet black hair.

"I'm sorry if it's an inconvenience," she said graciously. Her voice was soft and pleasant to hear, with the slightest hint of an accent. "I have some family matters that I must also attend to in town so my original plan was altered a bit," she explained. "I thought it would be beneficial if I started sooner but if it is an inconvenience I could just-"

Arthur silenced her with the wave of his hand. "Don't be silly my dear, we're happy to have you. And besides, Mrs. Steele will be able to take her time explaining things. Although," he flipped through her file for a bit till he came to the page he was looking for. He gave an appreciative whistle and nodded. "I have got to say, this is a very impressive resume, Miss Kovalchuk, you'll have no trouble fitting in, I'm sure."

She smiled and tucked a bit of her hair behind her ear. "I do enjoy my job," she said.

He nodded again. "Good, good. I remembered when I transfered to this bank I didn't know a soul, but you said that you have family in the city?"

At the mention of family Miss Kovalchuk's smile only grew wider. "Yes sir, my brother," she said.

Arthur knew that he was making mindless small talk; he had all of this information already. But it was either this or take his lunch break... And if his secretary notified him one more time saying that a Mr. Bonnefoy was here to see him he would not be held responsible for his actions.

It was already looking to be another one of those Monday's and it wasn't even past noon yet.

Arthur nodded, slowly losing interest in the conversation. "That must be quite lovely, being as far away from home as you are," he remarked.

"Yes sir, it is," she said. "We get along very well. I love my brother very, _very_ much."

* * *

Translations:  
_Eto panyAtno_- is this clear?  
_Alló brat_- hello brother  
_Alló_- hello  
_Do svidanija_- goodbye  
_Zima_, from Zi-ma (зима)- winter. Two guesses as to who that is.  
_Truba_- Pipe; Ivan's nickname for obvious reasons  
_Vor_- thief.  
_Bratva_- brothehood

**Notes:**  
I generally dislike creating OCs if I can't at least base them off a country, but I couldn't bring myself to kill off Hetalia characters, so...

"_Zima had deemed him worth of receiving his stars_." If a person has star tattoos on his shoulders it is symbolic of his dignity and honor and that he lives by a certain code.

"_You do not exactly live like a Vor_." Honestly that entire conversation was in Russian so I could have just written "thief" but Vor has a certain connotation to it in this context. Andrei is referring to the _Vory v Zakone_ or "thieves inside the law." This is a code that all _Vor_ follow. One of the laws is that you must not own significant property, though I don't think an apartment would be that big of a deal...

"_Really Andriusha, you should have kept your mouth shut_." In Russian, as with most languages, people use diminutives as a sign of endearment. When I was looking into this I found out that there are millions of nicknames that can be derived from a person's name. For example, Ivan could be changed to Vanya, Van'ka, Vanechka, Vaniusha, Vaniushka, and Ivanushka. Talk about a mouth full. In this case, Ivan used it in a demeaning manner.

I would also like to thank danka_mls over at livejournal for being such a big help! **  
**


	3. Chapter Three

**Contract 3**

Alfred pulled up to the ice rink, waiting for Matthew to come out of practice. He always finished a bit earlier than his brother and would usually forget to pick him up; half the time he would get part-way home, then glance over at the passenger's side to an empty seat. So today he had gotten the ingenious idea to leave a sticky-note reminder on the steering wheel that read: "DON'T FORGET MATTHEW" in big, blocky red letters. Alfred had to hand it to himself; sometimes he was just too smart.

He checked his phone for the time, hoping it was about time for Matthew to get out, and saw that he had a voicemail. It was from his father.

"_I hope you, ah_," Arthur had cleared his throat. He sounded worn out. Alfred doubted he'd gotten much sleep the night before. He wondered if he'd spoken to Francis. "_I hope you had a lovely day, Alfred. And in case you've forgotten about our deal, I expect you in my office no later than six._" There was a long pause and Alfred thought that perhaps Arthur had forgotten to hang up when he spoke again. "_Francis_..." He paused again. "_I-I'm not sure who's meant to pick up Marine this evening so don't let me forget. I may need you to get her_."

Alfred groaned and threw his cellphone into the passenger's seat. It was nearly six now and Marine had to be picked up from daycare at six. Was there anything Arthur didn't expect of him? How was he supposed to work for his dad, pick up Marine, do homework, eat, and sleep? Alfred had time for like, three of those things and eating and sleeping were non-negosiable. And who knows how long Arthur expected him to stay at his stupid office-

"Bad day?" Matthew asked quietly.

Alfred nearly jumped out of his seat. "Jesus, Matt! Don't sneak up on me like that. When did you get here?"

Matthew sighed. "A few minutes ago."

Alfred groaned. "Man, why didn't you say something; Arthur's gonna kill me. I'm running late."

"Do you want me to pick up Marine?" Matthew asked.

"Huh?"

"Well since Papa's... not home yet and I know you and Arthur are busy tonight..."

Alfred glanced over at his brother. Though they weren't biologically related they'd lived together as a family since they were toddlers and considered themselves brothers, blood related or not. Sometimes Alfred forgot just how awesome Matthew could be.

Alfred grinned and ruffled Matthew's hair. "Man, have I ever told you how great you are?"

Matthew smiled. "A few times."

* * *

Alfred, book bag over one shoulder and football gear over the other, handed the keys to his truck to Matthew. "See ya later," he said. "And wish me luck."

Matthew laughed and climbed into the drivers seat.

"And be careful!" Alfred called after him as he drove off. "If you crash I'll kill you!"

"Excuse me," someone said behind him.

Alfred turned around and nearly bumped into a tiny, black haired woman.

He smiled. "Hey there," he said, looking her up and down. Alfred didn't remember anyone this hot working at his father's bank and there was no way he would have forgotten _her_.

"You're in front of my bike," she said, indicating to a sleek looking black motorcycle. Alfred glanced down and whistled. "Kawasaki ZX," he said; Alfred had a thing for anything with a motor. "_Nice_."

A hot girl with good taste; it didn't get any better than that. And she had a slight accent as well. Alfred knew what he'd be thinking about later tonight...

She didn't seem the least bit impressed with him. "If you would please move?" she asked with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

It took Alfred a moment to snap out of his little fantasy. "Oh, yeah, sure. Sorry!" he moved out of the way, still trying to come off as hot stuff to a woman obviously older and completely uninterested.

She climbed on her bike, furrowed her brows, and looked at him again, as if noticing something for the first time. "Alfred, right?" she asked.

Alfred blinked a few times and stared at her wide-eyed, completely taken aback by the fact that someone that hot knew his name.

"I recognized you from the photographs in your father's office," she explained. Alfred mentally did a happy dance; she did work here! "Speaking of which," she cocked her head to the side, giving him an amused look, "isn't he expecting you?"

Alfred nearly smacked himself for getting sidetracked. "Oh yeah... _Fuck_," he cursed and ran up the stairs to the front entrance without a second glance back, hoping Arthur was in a good enough mood.

The moment Alfred turned around she dropped the smile.

"Imbecile," she muttered darkly as she revved the engine and drove off. This was going to be easier than they had originally thought...

* * *

Alfred rode the elevator up to his father's office on the 60th floor and ran until he was standing in front of his desk. Arthur was on the phone but he pulled it from his ear and held a hand over it when he saw Alfred come in. "Did security give you a hard time?" he whispered.

"No but-"

"Then why are you so _bloody_ late?" he hissed.

Alfred rolled his eyes and looked at the clock. It was only ten minutes after six. Arthur needed to take a chill pill.

"Sorry about that, Mr. Braginski," Arthur said, spinning around in his chair to face the full length window. "Yes, my son just got here." A pause. "Alfred." Arthur laughed. "Yes, he goes to the prep school in the inner city. Mhmm. No, not quite eighteen."

Alfred nearly dropped everything.

Had... Had his father just said Braginski? As in Ivan Braginski?

"Oh, my god," Alfred whispered. "Oh my god, _oh my god."  
_  
Arthur turned around to shush him.

Alfred began to flail his arms dramatically. 'Hang up the phone!' he mouthed. 'Hang up!'

Arthur spun back around, ignoring him.

Alfred let his bags fall to the floor and clutched at his hair. Oh, this was not good. This was not good at all. Why was that Russian bastard talking to his dad? Better yet, why was his dad talking to that Russian bastard?

"I must say, it's very good to hear from you!" Arthur said. "Indeed. Say, my dear boy, when will you be back in town?"

Alfred's eye twitched. They knew each other? They _knew_ each other!

"Marvelous!" Arthur exclaimed. "I trust I'll be seeing you soon, then."

That was it; Alfred couldn't take it anymore. He walked around Arthur's desk and tried to pry the phone out of his hands.

"Yes we should- _Alfred_ what on _earth_?" Arthur swatted at his hand and turned the other way. "I'm sorry, Alfred must have forgotten to take his pills this morning," he said through grit teeth, giving Alfred a warning glare.

"Oh, no we haven't had dinner yet," Arthur said, going back to his conversation with the Evil Communist from Hell. "That would be lovely, yes!"

"_No_!" Alfred shouted. "No to whatever he's saying!"

Arthur yanked the phone away from his ear. "One more time Alfred and I swear you'll regret it." He placed the phone back on his ear. "Mhmm. Alright, we'll see you there. Yes, you too."

Arthur hung up and crossed his arms over his chest. "What has gotten into you, lad?" he asked.

"What's gotten into me?" Alfred exclaimed. "Nothing's gotten into me, I just don't think you should be talking to that Ivan Bragi-Romanov-whatever his last name is."

"For your information, Alfred," Arthur said, voice very low and menacing, "Mr. Braginski and his family are some of our best customers. They've invested a lot in this bank and we've done business with their family for decades." Arthur stopped, mid-lecture, and gave him a puzzled look. "How do you know him, anyways?"

Alfred huffed and pointed his finger at the sky. "How do I know that Commie?" he asked. "I'll tell you how. He-"

Alfred clamped a hand over his mouth. How could he tell his dad that Ivan was a creepy black-mailer who stole his driver's license without incriminating himself?

He thought for a moment, then slumped his shoulders.

"Never mind," he mumbled. "But I'm not eating with that guy!"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "For god's sake, act your age!" Arthur stood up and grabbed his jacket. "We're having dinner at Yao's, it's a lovely place in China Town."

"But what about Marine?" Alfred asked. Sure Matthew was getting her but he hadn't told Arthur that.

"Matthew's getting her," Arthur said, adjusting his tie in his reflection.

Damn it.

"But aren't I supposed to be working?" Alfred asked, growing desperate.

Arthur glanced over at him. "Don't worry, you'll have plenty of opportunities to make up for lost time."

"But... But why do_ I _have to go?" Alfred asked, voice a half a step away from a whine.

Arthur took a deep breath. He was probably counting to ten in his head.

"Alfred," Arthur began slowly, "we're meeting him in half an hour. This will be good for you. When you're older and, god willing, have a career, you'll have to do this sort of thing. It's just a dinner business meeting. Think of it as a learning experience."

Think of it as a learning experience? That was going to be difficult seeing as Alfred was too busy thinking about how he was about to die.

* * *

China Town was only two blocks from Arthur's office so they walked. Alfred complained the entire way about anything from Ivan to how cold it was to how he thought he was getting sick, to the toe he was pretty sure he had broken. But mostly he complained about Ivan.

"-and I think that Matthew and Marine are probably really lonely so maybe we should just-"

Arthur clamped a hand over his son's mouth. "We're here," he ground out. "So belt up and for the love of _god_ do stop acting like a five year old."

Alfred snubbed his nose at the ornate looking restaurant before him. "I bet the food sucks," he muttered under his breath and begrudgingly followed his father inside.

Arthur smiled at the receptionist. "Hello, we're here to meet someone. Last name Braginski."

She smiled and nodded. "Yes sir, right this way."

They followed her through the dinning area to a table in the corner where two men sat. One was Ivan Braginski and the other was a young Chinese man. Both were deep in quiet conversation, though it seemed as if Ivan was making the other man uncomfortable. Alfred wasn't surprised, he couldn't stand the Russian ether.

They both stood up and smiled when Alfred and his father approached. Ivan extended his hand to shake Arthur's and the Chinese gentleman bowed.

"Mr. Kirkland," Ivan said, "this is my dear friend Yao Wang. He is the proprietor of this fine establishment."

Yao tried not to wince as Ivan said the word, 'friend'.

Arthur and Yao shook hands. "It is a pleasure to meet you," Yao said.

Arthur nodded. "Likewise. This is a very beautiful place."

Yao smiled. Alfred thought that he was way too pretty to be a guy. It was almost weird.

"And this is my son, Alfred," Arthur said, pushing Alfred forward forcefully.

Alfred shook Yao's hand but refused to shake Ivan's until Arthur pinched him in the back.

"I hope you enjoy yourselves," Yao said as they sat down. "Should I start you all off with some tea?"

Arthur felt completely at home already. "That would be lovely, thanks."

"I'll have a Coke," Alfred said, slouching over and resting his head in his hands.

Yao bowed again and left.

Arthur kicked his son under the table. "Sit up," he whispered.

Alfred rolled his eyes and sat back, only to slouch down further.

"So, this is Alfred," Ivan said, smiling. "Your father has told me many things about you," he said.

Alfred shot him a glare. Ivan laughed.

"Do not be so worried. They were all good things. How is school going, Alfred?" Ivan asked.

Alfred didn't say anything.

Arthur kicked him again. "_Be polite,_" he hissed.

Alfred crossed his arms over his chest and made a show of looking at everything but Ivan. "Good," he said, voice completely flat.

"Alfred was the starting quarterback this year," Arthur mentioned, voice full of pride. Alfred rolled his eyes again. Arthur was all for bragging about Alfred's accomplishments in front of people but he hardly ever told him how proud he was when no one else was there to hear it. Arthur hadn't even made it to any of his games this season; he had no right to bring it up.

Alfred was about to tell Arthur where he could take his empty compliments when re remembered that right now probably wasn't the best time. Arthur was already having a hard enough time with Francis without Alfred adding to it.

Alfred looked away from the two of them. Sometimes he wished that he and Arthur had a better relationship. or a moment he wondered what it would be like to just hangout with his dad, or go fishing like they did in the movies, or just talk about their problems.

Yao came back with their drinks and took everyone's orders, pulling Alfred from his thoughts. The teenager had no idea what anything was on the menu so he just ordered something with chicken and hoped he didn't end up with any cats or dogs on his plate.

Through the majority of the meal Arthur and Ivan mostly talked business and Alfred saw just how pointless it had been for him to come; he wasn't paying attention to what they were saying and they weren't paying attention to him anymore, so it had been stupid to make him tag along.

Why had Ivan wanted Alfred to have dinner with them anyways? To make him nervous? To piss him off?

Well he wasn't nervous. But if making him mad had been his plan then he had succeeded.

He glanced back and forth between the two as they changed the subject to comparing their respective hometowns in Russia and England. He narrowed his eyes at Ivan. Had he told Arthur about the accident? Alfred shook his head no slightly. That was impossible. If he had, Arthur would have ripped him a new one by now.

Alfred's narrowed eyes turned into a full on death-glare. He didn't care if Ivan hadn't snitched, he still hated him. It was obvious that Ivan was up to something, he just hadn't figured it out yet.

Half way through the meal Arthur excused himself to the restroom. As he stood up he quietly threatened his sun to behave while he was gone. Alfred rolled his eyes.

As soon as Arthur was out of sight Ivan gave Alfred a smug look.

"How convenient that I know your father, _da_?"

"You better not tell him," Alfred nearly snarled. "Or you'll regret it."

Ivan laughed. "Calm down, _Alik_. You don't have to worry about that; I've already told you we settled the little matter of my ruined bumper."

"It's hardly ruined," Alfred muttered under his breath. "And my name's not Alec, it's Alfred!"

Ivan laughed. "I'm well aware, _Lapushka_ ."

Alfred's eye twitched. "I really hate you," he said flatly. "What the hell are you up to?" he asked, voice full of suspicion.

Ivan took a sip of his coffee. Alfred remembered the tattoos on his hands and looked, but he was wearing gloves. Alfred made a face. What sort of weirdo wore gloves inside?

"I don't know what you're talking about," Ivan said innocently. "And do not forget to stop by tomorrow evening," he reminded.

"Yeah, yeah," Alfred said dismissively. "Hey, how'd you get my number, anyways?"

Ivan smiled. "'That is for me to know' I think is how the saying goes, _da_?"

Alfred spent the rest of the evening writing down ways to kill Ivan on the back of his paper Chinese Zodiac placemat.

* * *

"That sounds like something out of a manga," Kiku said after Alfred had explained the entirety of his weekend, starting with how much he hated Arthur and ending with how much he hated Ivan. "Did you add the NaCl?" he asked, indicating to the test tube in his hand. Alfred had Chemistry with Kiku every Tuesday and Thursday and though they always did labs together, Kiku usually ended up doing all the work as Alfred's mind was usually... elsewhere.

"But don't you think it's weird?" Alfred asked. "That Ivan guy has to be up to something." He looked down at the chemicals Kiku was holding, remembering that they were, in fact, in Chemistry class. "Er, no hang on, lemme finish this first," Alfred said with a grin.

Kiku gave a weary glance to what Alfred was doing. When he noticed him taking something off the Bunsen burner (When had he turned it on?) his eyes widened. What was Alfred up to? The experiment didn't require heating anything. Kiku had thought for sure that Alfred had been so engrossed in the story he had been telling that he hadn't had the time to mess around. Kiku glanced around, a bit nervous for his friend, and looked up at their teacher. Thankfully he wasn't paying attention.

"What are you doing, Alfred?" Kiku whispered.

Alfred shrugged. "Well, we're studying chemical reactions aren't we? Besides, this lab is boring," he said. "And who knows what this will do?" Before Kiku could say anything else Alfred mixed whatever he'd gotten off the burner with an unidentifiable liquid.

The contents of the test tube instantly exploded. Alfred gasped and dropped it, then started to laugh. Kiku closed his eyes, waiting for the teacher to yell.

"Kirkland!" their teacher shouted. "Principle's office. _Now_."

Kiku sighed again, wondering when, or if, Alfred would stop acting up for attention. One of these days he just knew that Alfred was going to do something stupid at school and regret it.

Alfred grinned at Kiku, taking his safety goggles off. "Meet ya in the parking lot for lunch," he said, then walked out of the classroom, shooting their teacher a mock salute on his way out.

* * *

"My life is oveeeer," Alfred muttered as he let his head fall on the table with a loud _thwak_.

"What did the principle say?" Kiku asked.

Alfred mumbled something unintelligible.

"Pardon?"

He turned his head to the side so he could speak properly. "I said I got suspended from the team."

Kiku didn't look surprised. "It's your own fault; that was probably the tenth stunt you've pulled this year."

Alfred glared at him. "A little sympathy would be nice," he said with a pout. "My life seriously sucks right now. You have no idea."

Kiku fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Well look at the bright side," he said. "At least it's the offseason. How long are you suspended for?"

Alfred groaned. "Until I pull up my grades and start, 'acting like an adult'," he said sarcastically.

Kiku smiled. "That's not so bad. Just think of it as extra free time to play videoga-"

Alfred shot him another glare. "I'm _grounded_ from those, remember?"

Kiku bit his lower lip, trying not to laugh.

"You're a horrible friend," Alfred said darkly.

Alfred's phone chimed; he'd received a text message.

_Six o'clock. 4000 Kings Street._

Alfred groaned again. Kiku was being to think Alfred was worse than a teenage girl when it came to acting theatrically. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"It's Ivan," Alfred said. "You know how I told you he's making me clean up his place?"

"That is a good deal," Kiku mused. "Considering you wrecked his car."

Alfred frowned. "Yeah well, I signed these papers so he can't use that against me. I think he's just trying to mess with me for some stupid reason, I just need to figure out why so I can get back at him..." Alfred tapped at his chin, deep in thought. Or as deep in thought as Alfred got.

Kiku raised a brow. "Signed papers?" he asked.

Alfred shrugged. "Yeah. Weren't you listening to me at all earlier? It's so I wouldn't have to pay for any damages..." He furrowed his brow, the wheels in his head slowly beginning to turn. "He... had them all ready for me to sign, too... That was... kinda weird..."

"Alfred, signed what papers? You're not a legal adult yet. Nothing you sign is legally binding."

Alfred shot up from his seat, because that was what the cool guys in all the best action movies did whenever they were about to say something ground breaking or kick someone's ass.

Suddenly it all made sense now. The fact that Ivan had made him sign those papers, had conned him into that deal, had his number, made him go out to dinner with his father... It was all part of Ivan's twisted game. And tonight, if that bastard Russian got his way, it would all come to a head.

"Kiku..." Alfred said quietly, building up the suspense.

Kiku looked from left to right, hoping Alfred would start acting normal as soon as possible. People were starting to stare. "Yes, Alfred?" he asked.

Alfred slammed his fist on the table. "He _is_ a serial killer!" he exclaimed.

Kiku deadpanned. "A serial killer?"

Alfred looked very pleased with himself for having "figured out" the big mystery. He nodded. "Yep," he said. "And tonight, I'm going to beat him at his own game. Stupid Ruski won't know what hit him!"

Nobody fucked with Alfred and got away with it.

* * *

Alfred had to hand it to himself, he felt pretty cool right now. He felt like Bruce Wayne, or John McClane, or Rambo or something, riding the subway to exact justice. He had wanted to drive his truck, but there was no place to park on Kings street.

That had probably been all part of Ivan's dastardly plan, to try to get Alfred to go where he couldn't bring an escape vehicle. Alfred smirked and patted his duffle bag, which he had packed full with top of the line artillery. (Actually he had brought one of Arthur's croquet mallets, a roll of tape, and a paring knife, but who needed a gun when you could just whap someone with a blunt object?)

Alfred got off at his stop, one block away from his destination. He hugged his jacket close as he walked, cursing the weather for being so cold. It didn't help that the sun had already set, making the wind feel that much colder, and the near-empty streets that much creepier. Not that he was afraid or anything. But why did Ivan have to live in one of the sketchiest parts of the city? He supposed most serial killers wouldn't live in a cul-de-sac, but still.

After a few minutes of walking Alfred found himself standing in front of 4000 Kings Street. The building looked looked nice and normal enough, if a it on the foreboding side, but how was Alfred supposed to know which apartment was Ivan's? If he texted him then Ivan would know that he was here already, and Alfred wanted to sneak up on him.

He shrugged, guessing he'd just have to go from door to door asking if they had a hardened criminal in their residence until he found the bastard.

Alfred walked up the concrete stoop and opened the front door, peering in.

There was a small, carpeted landing directly inside. A single, dim, uncovered light bulb illuminated the narrow space, casting an eerie glow against the maroon walls and the worn-out stairs that led directly to a single door.

Alfred gulped. He had to hand it to the guy; Ivan sure knew how to set the mood. But he had come too far to back down now. And he wasn't just doing this for himself. He couldn't let Ivan do business with his father anymore. Arthur was too stupid to realize just how evil Ivan really was, so it was up to Alfred to save everyone.

He took a deep breath, got the mallet out, and walked up the stairs. As quietly and slowly as he could, he tried the knob. It popped open with a click and Alfred nearly had a heart attack, certain that Ivan would come to the door any minute now and greet him with a butcher knife.

A few seconds passed by. Alfred held his breath, straining his ears for any noise. After a few moments of silence he figured it would be safe to go in.

Alfred pushed the door open and looked around. The apartment looked normal enough. Ivan had a pretty nice television and a super comfortable looking couch that Alfred bet would be totally fun to bounce on and-

"You're early."

Alfred's scream broke the sound barrier. Without thinking he closed his eyes and swung the croquet mallet as hard as he could. Expecting to hear the satisfying sound of wood against skull, Alfred was confused to find his swing brought to a premature halt.

He opened one eye and saw that his mallet had been stopped by... a faucet pipe. A faucet pipe being held by Ivan. A very sweaty Ivan, wearing nothing but a pair of shorts and a towel around his neck.

Alfred, momentarily forgetting why he was there, found himself staring at Ivan's exposed skin. It seemed as if every available surface had been covered in tattoos, from the stars on both his shoulders, to the religious symbols carved into the skin of his torso, to the skulls and words written with the Cyrillic alphabet that covered his arms and hands. Even his kneecaps had tattoos- the same stars that were on his shoulders.

If Ivan had been anyone else, Alfred would have thought that he looked almost... cool.

Ivan smiled. "Like what you see?" he asked teasingly.

Alfred blinked, finally remembering why he was there, and took another swing.

Ivan dropped his pipe, grabbed the mallet with his hand, kicked the door behind Alfred shut, and backed him into it. "What do you think you're doing?" Ivan asked, trying not to laugh at the boy. Alfred tried to push him off, surprising Ivan with his strength.

"Get off of me you commie serial killer!" Alfred shouted, trying to head-butt the taller man.

Ivan raised a brow. "Serial killer?" he asked. He grinned and brought his face closer to Alfred's.

"I'm not a serial killer, Alfred," Ivan whispered. "I'm much, _much_ worse."

* * *

**A/N**: Sorry for the lack of coolness and Mafia in this chapter. I'm getting to the fun stuff, I swear! Also, this story isn't supposed to be funny but Alfred disagrees. I'm sorry if the tone seems ADD or bipolar. I was going for serious, but, well, whatever. But if anything seems wonky let me knowwwww. And yes. Alfred is straight. I have such a thing for Omg I didn't know I was gayyyy!Alfred. And making Alfred have Arthur's last name seems awkward, but since he's his adopted son it wouldn't have made sense for his last name to be Jones.

**Notes**:  
About dot com says: "Not to mix hydrogen peroxide/acetone mixtures when heated in the presence of an acid because they may cause explosions." That's the extent of my science knowledge soooo.

"Calm down, Alik." Alik is the diminutive for the name Alexander and is also used for many names that are rarely found in Russian and begin with Al-. I was so depressed to find that there was no Russian equivalent to Alfred like there is for Matthew.

"I'm well aware, Lapushka." Lapushka is a nickname that means "little paw". For some reason it reminded me of Native Americans, so I thought it fit Alfred somehow. It's usually used for children, so Ivan is obviously making fun of Alfred here. Also, it's such a cute name; I think it suits him.

Ivan's tattoos: In the Russian mafia, religious symbols usually correlate with what prisons you have been incarcerated in. The stars on his kneecaps means that he is a captain; it symbolizes that he will bow down to no one. A captain or, Avtorityet, is in charge of a group of men who report directly to him. The captain in turn reports directly to the Pakhan or Boss. The Pakhan is the "Godfather" of the Russian Mafia. There are more tattoos and more explanations to comeeeee.

Random fact/rumor: Dude, Vladimir Putin was an advisor of a supposed mafia-affiliated company. How cool is thaaaat.**  
**


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